When the sun rises, People start their day, Going every direction, For the dreams they uphold. Ordinary routine is boring, Find a way out to put some color. Survive in the tough environments, After all there is full of sweet. Fight for what you believe, Continue and continue, It’s a beauty that we make it happen.

In the early morn, as I arise, Nature's symphony fills the skies. Birds sing their songs, a sweet refrain, Welcoming the day, free from strain.

But as the city wakes from slumber, The sounds of laughter start to lumber. Children's giggles, carried on the breeze, Echoing through the urban trees.

They run and play in fields so wide, Their innocence, a joyful tide. Their clothes now stained with dirt and grime, Proof of adventures, a playful crime.

And oh, the dog, a muddy mess, Bounding through the mud with zest. Paws leave prints, a trail of delight, A playful companion, a true delight.

As the sun sets over hills and fields, A golden glow, a beauty revealed. The urban landscape, bathed in light, Transformed into a magical sight.

In this bustling world, not known today, A happy family finds their way. Amidst the chaos, love is found, Creating a haven, safe and sound.

Buildings hide the sun’s golden rod - Grey giants reaching for the skies. Blocks of colour break up their façade  - Neon signs blinding my eyes.   Scampering fast, whiskers twitch –   rats, each city-dweller’s pet. “Get out of the way, bitch.” Good deeds a growing debt.   Garbage, urine, lingering BO, City’s perfume wafting to and fro. Shouting people, clacking trains, Urban’s best endless refrain.   Homes the size of a shoebox, perpetual ticking and chiming of clocks, residual and odorous exhaust, counting down the days until life’s lost.

Too loud in this town, that holds a gold crown it's foamy thunder-head. A spinning halo spanning the stout skyline; Standstill.

Five fingers deep in the North Sea I plunge. As it soaks my seaweed seemed gloves, foreignly wired eyes spark ill-interest on my absurd ways.

The wild pidgeons here tweet that I harbour street cred while their iridescent necks bob back and forth Their requite liquidates from their bodies of rusted brown to the morse code beneath my bode toe.

Expanded feathers; Exposed.

Human waste lines the streets of Düsseldorf. I jump hop-scotch along the pavement, avoiding the rain-sogged dissolving-stool spreading beneath me. Along this path I catch waves of incoherent shit-talk from clefted queens and long altared ancestral genes.

I grab hold of the North Sea for the last time. As it soaks my seaweed seeming gloves, small pin-holes open at my fingertips, finger-gunned, I breathe in soultry smog from land-bound clog homes.

Oh, Great City How we love thee Skyscrapers obscure The sky above me Bags of refuse Line the streets Foraging Rats compete for Restaurant seats The club scene drips with Methamphetamine As unauthorized Elmo Curses me For giving him nothing Corrupted leaders Keep taxing, spending Never ending But we keep reelecting Forgiving them everything For, oh Great City How we love thee.

Corners. Hidden places for tiny treasures. Make someones day by any measures.

Crannies. Cracks in our sidewalk, where green things rest. And swallows on iron beams weaving their nests.

The bus grumbles by, screeching to a halt a few feet from a local haunt reeking of malt

A quick “Thank you” to the bus driver and then a hop from the steps onto the concrete The haunt, a dive bar favorite, a place the unconventional gather and feel complete

I walk up, the click of my heeled shoes in rhythm with traffic as it passes - one car, two clicks forward, exhaust pipes trumpeting their noxious gases, and so on.

I get to the door, local urchins congregate to laugh and discuss the goings-on of the night. I light my cigarette off of one of yours, then give a quick “thank you” for the light.

Inside the bar, the band is starting back up again, freshly evacuated whiskey shots line the windowsills and the drummer is stealthily sliding back into a sound, all rhythm, no frills

I walk past the stage, take a few steps and no sooner, you’re there. The singer, a woeful crooner, He points me to the bar and signals with two hands, “two drinks for us both”. I comply with his demands and return with gin for me and whiskey for him We cheers and I inquire, “how about a hymn?”

He releases his guitar and we rest in each others eyes as the bar murmur mysteriously fades out and dies and only the moment has the stage. The shots are thrown back, I grimace and he grins. And so once again the music begins

A few songs pass, each one prettier than the last As I sway or shed a tear, emotions whirling, changing fast

Someone laughs heartily, someone else writes feverishly scribbling by dim bar light in a tiny notebook, untouched pages still serene He writes in the tiniest handwriting that I have ever seen.

Someone else is glued to the tv, regulars, mostly. Some are charming, vivacious, and others sorrowful and ghostly.

The band is due another smoke break, and I venture out too. The singer and I, the listener, sit together on the stoop.

We watch the people walk by, we get asked for cash twice, but only hand it over once. “We get paid out later tonight, sorry brother, I don’t have the funds”

We get asked for a cigarette, and he gives the lady two. “Want to go to the gas station and get a soda?” “Yes,” I say. “I do.”

We cross the street and the open sign dances in anticipation, throwing a multicolored O, P, E, N on the ground like a roll of dice You hold the door open for me, nod your head to show you’re being nice

The cashier tells the singer, “ah my favorite man! Make healthy choices.” And we laugh and make small talk in boisterous voices. Then he sells him a pack of smokes and sneaks us a candy bar for free. “Two sodas, a diet for him and the regular one, in a can please, for me.”

We giggle about the people in the bar, watch playful couples and old-timers and lovers of music from afar.

In some way, everyone tonight came for the music. We all came for his and he came for mine, and our music together lets our hearts intertwine. Strings in tune, we howl and bellow songs of love below the moon.

Something subjectively terrible happens so you love me

DMT, DBT, DMV

Something objectively parable happens so you leave me

Bible study, Bible study

DMT, DBT, DMV

Market stalls Sidewalk balls As the fashion drifts on through A man smoking his fifth cigarette on the corner of an avenue A cat fight in the ally behind the bakery Where the baker makes his bagels to the highest of quality A woman screams of the end of days As a man rushes to catch his train Offices upon offices stacked up high Tips of skyscrapers caressing the sky Cars drive past Their drivers honking their horns As the pedestrians keep coming Whilst the children are running to school These streets may be busy In this loud city But if you take it all in You’ll love swinging through the urban jungle

The silver of a concrete wall in shade before the dawn as streetlights give way to the sun and one by one they're gone

The rhythm of pedestrians as back and forth they walk with heels on sidewalks, hands on phones to fill the air with talk

The rushing of the traffic meets the singing of a dove and the steady dripping of a pipe that's leaking high above

A door held for a stranger and a high-five for a friend and the songs of street musicians greet you at the sidewalk's end